


Use the knife and twist it

by jessajordamn



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Bodily Harm, Explosives, Kepler just being Kepler, Light Angst, Missions Gone Wrong, and weird, but if you blink you will miss it, it might be a mistake but it seems like kepler has feelings, you know the basic SI-5 What Could Possibly Go Wrong kit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessajordamn/pseuds/jessajordamn
Summary: SI-5 are on a mission that's about to go horribly wrong. Kepler may be able to save it.Or: “With all due respect, sir,” Jacobi says, voice angry. “What the actual fuck.”





	Use the knife and twist it

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this fic walks the line and which line it walks, but it walks A line. Hope y'all enjoy!

Jacobi does not know where it goes wrong. It’s somewhere between the planting and the extraction that something goes awry, that something is _moving_. Someone, rather. Someone who shouldn’t be there.

He isn’t even sure what the exact mission is. Plant a bomb, extract some information, hold some leverage over some rich dude unwilling to negotiate. Something along those lines, probably. He knows what _he_ is supposed to do. Most of the time, that’s good enough.

The building should’ve been empty. _Should_ being the keyword here. It’s not.

By the time Kepler storms into the room, someone is holding a knife to Jacobi’s throat, holding his body up as a shield, arm twisted on his back. Great, just _great_. 

On the bright side, he had just finished up planting the bomb before their mystery guest came in. On the less bright, somewhat duller side, he was now being threatened with his life. Jacobi scans the room, looking for possible escape routes, and lets his eyes fall on Kepler, gun raised. He looks so calm it’s almost feral. The look his boss is giving the mancould freeze hell over in a matter of seconds.

Jacobi feels the pressure against his throat grow, swallowing as his heart picks up pace. The sharp edge digs into his flesh, releasing one droplet of blood. He can hear movement in the hallway. 

_Maxwell._

Kepler gives a signal so small that it would escape most people. It’s not meant for him, though. It’s for his better half waiting outside, and suddenly the noise is stops. Maxwell is taking care of something, but he has no clue _what._ Jacobi moves, ever so slightly, but the man holding him hostage doesn’t seem to notice. The fact that he hasn’t responded to the sounds from outside clues Jacobi in, and then he sees it. The ticking of the bomb. The sweat trickling down his back. The vague sense of body odor.

The man has no idea what he’s doing.

Good, they can use that. Jacobi isn’t sure whether it’s just the man or Kepler’s doing, but he has no time linger on it. 

Kepler has to move closer. He cannot get a clear shot, because Jacobi’s always there, being propped up, blood trickling down his throat. The man looks like a dear caught in the headlights.

“Good afternoon,” Kepler says, inching closer. His eyes move from Daniel to the man behind him, and he lets a smile creep on his face. An empty, hollow smile, more show than anything else. He makes a calculation, a plan. “Let’s talk.”

He keeps inching closer, making use of the man’s confusion. He only needs to give Jacobi one look, and then it’s happening: Jacobi frees his elbow, moving it upward to smack it into the man’s chin. The knife is pressed down harder, but Kepler’s moving fast now. He gets ready to disarm, but then he sees it. A misstep, ever so slightly, but it’s done. Jacobi’s on the ground, the man pressing down on his throat with the sole of his shoe, choking him. He holds out the knife. 

“Don’t,” he grunts, shaking his head. For a moment, Kepler halts.  
“Okay, no talking then,” Kepler nods. “Got it.” 

There is something behind his eyes Jacobi can’t quite place. These are the moments Kepler should excel at, calculated, controlled. The bomb ticks away, and there is a tremor in the man’s leg. Jacobi shifts, and is immediately punished; the man presses down again, more solid this time. His breath stocks.

“Stop it,” the man then commands, clearly gaining some nerve. His posture tells otherwise. Bravado.

“Or else,” Kepler says, but it isn’t really a question, because he already knows the answer. For some emphasis, the man pushes down harder. Warren can hear the ragged breaths, the raspy attempts at gasping for air. Jacobi is clawing at the leg, without avail. He tries not to think about it too long, doesn’t want to be stuck in the moment where Daniel is choking to death because _he_ didn’t react fast enough, can feel his heart pounding. He needs a new plan.

In regards to the man, he has one advantage: freedom of movement. If the man moves too much, he loses his leverage. If Warren moves too much, well- not a lot happens. 

“I don’t like that thing,” the man says, nodding towards the gun in Kepler’s hand.   
“Oh, this little thing?” Kepler asks, looking at his weapon, deciding whether he should take a risk. “Not that effective this close. Could shoot your brains out, though.”

The man pales.  
“Put it down,” he tries to snarl, not with too much effect. Kepler, however, obeys.

Kepler _\- listens_?  
Jacobi’s eyes widen as he realizes what Kepler is about to do. That _bastard._

“What now, tough guy?” Kepler asks, and the smile that unfurls is downright abhorrent. Sharp teeth and bad signs. He cracks his knuckles, then his neck, balling his hands into fists. There’s a split second where the man seems to realize his mistake, but by then he is being driven against the wall. His legs give way beneath him, and then he’s only kept up by Kepler’s arm, the other pulling back only to come swinging in full force. After his fist has connected with the poor sod’s face, he turns to look at a blue-faced Jacobi. It takes a second for Jacobi to connect the moving lips to words, to the fact that Kepler is talking to _him_. 

“Go,” Kepler mouths. “I got this.” Then louder: “Jacobi, go.”  
“Kepler, sir-,” Jacobi starts to protest, breath barely steadied. He can see the dangers, all the ways it can go wrong. There’s no arguing here though, he has heard it in his voice. But he can try. He can-

He hears the smack before he sees the fist connect to his boss’ face, before he sees Kepler turn towards the man and smile. Blood is dripping down his face.

“Very well,” is all he muses. He shoots Jacobi one last glance before continuing with his business. “Well connected. You saw an opportunity and grabbed it. I should compliment you on that.”

The man then looks so confused that Kepler almost finds it insulting not to punch him. Opportunities galore. The man groans, starting to reach for his nose, only to remember he is carrying a knife. Kepler grabs his wrist, stopping him before he can even start the thought. There’s a struggle. While the man might not seem sure, he is strong, and fairly quick. It is clear that he has had his fair share of fights, although this might not be the type he is used to. He hears Jacobi scurrying, or what he hopes to be Jacobi scurrying. The man twists the knife. Kepler twists his wrist in return. In his head, he is counting. Counting down a minute, then one more. He needs Jacobi out of here. 

He is not paying attention.

There’s a rattle, and then the guy’s knife is in his other hand. The adrenaline starts to kick in as Warren processes the sounds behind him. In front of him, the guy is moving to attack him, wrist sore, eye black. A quick once-over tells him his opponent is focussing solely on him.

A rookie mistake.

In a swift movement he moves forward, driving his shoulder into the blade. He uses the surprise to turn the man around, pulling the knife from his limb and into the pulsing vein of the man’s neck, at the same time a bullet hits the body from behind. Within a matter of seconds, it’s over. Behind the smoking gun there’s Jacobi, scolding. Kepler smiles through gritted teeth. Jacobi still scolds. 

“Well,” Kepler smiles, stepping over the foreign man’s body. With his hand, he is pressing against the wound in his shoulder. Jacobi eyes him wearily. “I told you-“

“With all due respect, _sir_ ,” Jacobi says, voice angry. “ _What the actual fuck.”_


End file.
